#its the size of a large building. it basically IS a moving building

[spearxwind]

Fantasizes about a really big excavator vehicle for my dragon worldbuilding before realizing im basically reinventing the plot in avatar

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

?

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[teh-tj]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[wwaheoh]

“Your Hot Furry Boyfriend Takes You on a Date But Then Ethereal Horrors Beyond Your Understanding Interrupt [ASMR]” Von Lycaon x gnReader (Romantic)

a/n: was listening to an actual asmr rp video and realized how down bad i am

The cold night breeze whistled through the streets, a coat lended to you by your boyfriend, Von Lycaon, stopping you from feeling it in its entirety. There weren’t many others on the street, only a couple others milling about. Shops were beginning to be closed, street lamps buzzing to life, owls and cicadas beginning to sing as the Sun began to dip itself under the horizon.

Snuggling closely to your boyfriend, he wrapped his arm around you, the warmth of his fur and the solid feeling of his toned body provided were comforts of steady warmth. Smiling, the two of you continued on to your shared apartment, basking in each other's presence.

Then there was a boom.

Shattering the serenity of the evening, a dark pulsating sphere burst out in the middle of the area they were in. Screams rang out as people began to run away from the ever-growing ball. A newly formed Hollow was emerging.

Lycaon moved quickly, taking his phone out and dialing his colleague, “Rina, there’s a Hollow forming on Fifth Street.” He held you firmly, beginning to basically carry you as he moved to get you as far as possible from the emerging Hollow. “You know what to do.” Hanging up from his phone before pocketing it, he turned to you. “Let’s go Dear.”

Only a few steps before the Hollow burst, enclosing the entirety of the surrounding area in its new space-warping environment.

“Faster than expected…” He murmured to himself, a sense of worry building in him- though not outwardly exposing it, mannerisms learned from his years as part of Victoria Housekeeping. Without a Proxy, there was no way they could get out without getting lost within the Hollow themselves. All they could do was,

“Wait for Miss Rina.” Lycaon held you tight, knowing that your Ether Aptitude was way less than his. A safe estimation would be that you had twenty-three minutes until your time ran out. That would not happen.

As the two of you ventured throughout the Hollow, aiming to either encounter Public Security or be located by Phaethon- either way, being sitting ducks was not an option. At your behest, the both of you searched for survivors. It seemed most people followed protocols, encouraged to learn it by heart from a young age. You couldn’t not know what to do in case of a sudden Hollow appearing when living in New Eridu after all.

Just as you were looking through some windows, searching for the elderly or those unable to escape, Lycaon rushed forward in a blur of white being trailed by a cool blue. An Ethereal. It had just rounded the corner before being split into two and ultimately disintegrating back into the Unknown Substance of the Hollow. You rushed to be closer to him, before he raised his hand.

His ears rotated before his fur stood up. A break in his characteristic cool composure. Quickly, he grabbed you before you could even react and rushed the two of you behind an alley. Just as you were about to speak, he covered you mouth. You moved to shoot him a look of indignation before getting a good look at the expression he wore. Worried.

A shadow passed through the streets. It was large, about the size of a firetruck. Looking up, the two of you became petrified at the sight of the Ethereal. Bigger than any ever recorded, squid-like in it’s appearance. It flowed through the skies like water, a dead gaze as it searched for… something.

“Psst!”

The two of you jumped, Lycaon nearly punting the pint-sized newcomer before stopping himself midway through, the now recognized-Bangboo raising its small arms in surrender. “Wait! Miss Rina sent me!”

“Ah, Master Proxy. I apologize.”

“It’s fine! That weird squid Ethereal is something I’d expect to see at the Outpost! But forget that, let’s get you out of here.”

“Please, I think we have about thirteen minutes left.”

“Isn’t your Aptitude high?”

Lyacon motioned to you, with you waving as the Bangboo waved back.

The Bangboo turned back to the wolf-Thiren.

“Is that your…?”

“Significant other? Yes.”

“Wow! For some reason I both did and didn’t expect that…” The Bangboo muttered to themselves before turning back to lead them. Then they stopped before quickly motioning for everyone to hide.

The shadow of the titan-sized Ethereal passed by once more, now seemingly closer to touching down onto the ground than before.

“Alright let’s go!” The Bangboo whisper-yelled, waving for them to follow. As they passed and rounded a few more corners, the Bangboo seemed to have gotten a premonition, “Ethereals!” Lyacon burst forward to protect the team as mentioned Etherals burst out of the woodwork, black charcoal bodies with green oozing out from their underbody.

He stepped forward before bursting into motion, leaving a small crater where he used the ground as a starter block. Quickly disposing of the enemies in a professional matter, none of the Ethereals could even hope to land an attack as he fought, decimating their numbers with practiced ease.

Taking out his watch as you and the Bangboo caught up with him, you noticed a furrow in his brow. Questioning it, he replied, “Eight more minutes. Phatheon, we must hurry.”

“Right!” The Bangboo replied, scurrying forward to lead the group out once more. Passing through a few portals. The tell-tale sound of Public Security vehicles and Rescue Bangboo becoming more audible as your group began to reach the exit.

“EEEAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

A screech that could be heard from all throughout the Hollow, turning back, all three of you watched as the Ethereal noticed your group, having sacrificed hiding for efficiency in haste to get out. The being began to approach with frightening haste, unnatural in how something so big could move so fast.

Breaking out of his stupor fast, Lycaon hoisted you and the Bangboo up with his arms and began to sprint in the direction Phaethon pointed them in before being disrupted.

“Where to Master Phaethon?”

“Left!”

“Now take a right!”

“One more- oh jeez it’s catching up!”

Lyacon used every ounce of strength in each push his legs gave, pushing through stray smaller Ethereals, not wanting to give the monstrosity chasing them a chance to catch up. After a few more blocks, it had gotten so close that you could hear the squelching of it’s tendrils, with it only being stopped by the buildings. Just as it seemed that it would begin to make a grab at Lyacon, gunfire rang out.

Public Security, with this particular group headed by Zhu Yuan and Qingyi, with backup from neighboring departments as well as their very own, laid down gunfire on the Ethereal. Forcing it to evade to avoid taking the brunt of the firepower being let out on it.

“Phatheon!”

“One more right!”

He barreled forward, just as a wave of nausea hit you. Two more minutes.

Sprinting forward, he fell into one final tear in reality, arriving in a space in front of the Hollow.

Setting you and the Bangboo down, he let you catch your breath as he reconvend with Phaethon.

“I am in your debt, Master Proxy. Money will be forward-”

“I- It’s fine Sir!”

“Pardon?”

“Just for this once! Take it as a token of good faith.”

Lyacon smiled, nodding as he turned his attention back to you, leaving the Bangboo to return back home.

“Are you okay?” “‘m fine… just tired.” “Of course, let's have you checked then we can return home, okay?” “Mm…”

You nodded off to sleep as he lifted you in his arms, taking you over to the doctor to get checked. Waking you up only for a little bit before falling right back to sleep after all the tests were done. You were cleared- only being exhausted from prolonged exposure to the Hollow.

Setting you softly onto the shared bed, Lycaon softly caressed the top of your head. Thankful for having been able to get you out with minimal roadblocks. Had the two of you been even a little slower…

Best not to think about it.

Later, the Hollow would be contained once more through the combined efforts of Public Security and the military sector based in Scott Outpost. Only a few casualties- a testimony to the effectiveness of their efficiency.

[blorbocedes]

ok hear me out.... totally crazy idea.... max / lando mind games

Lando stops from where he's grinding against Max's thigh to look up hesitantly. "Hey, you're not like, mad at me from last week's radio, right? Cause Daniel was saying in the media..."

Max is broken out of his spacing out, blinking and then frowning as he registers Lando's words. "I have not spoken to Daniel." His hand curls against Lando's thigh.

Lando nods. Right. Cause it would be pretty awkward of them to be doing this if Max was mad at him. Max's thigh is a solid weight under him and his dick is missing the friction already. They're not supposed to have sex during race week so they improvise. This is basically building core strength for Lando.

"So, we're cool." Lando says nonchalantly, squeezing Max's shoulder in a friendly manner and also to balance himself, gearing himself ready to start back up. His underwear had pooled a small wet spot of precome already.

This time Max stops him. The grip on his waist tightens, stopping his hips from moving. Max holds his gaze in that intense eye contact he likes to hold, that Lando can't shy away from. "Why would we not be cool? It is, of course, your championship to win now,"

Lando's dick is so hard, it twinges in pain. To gain some leverage, he palms Max's half-hard cock through his briefs.

"Which makes it my championship to lose." Max finishes wryly.

"Don't say that." Lando mutters, ears going red, flaming downwards. Lando thumbs Max's bulbous tip to be petty, and Max digs his thumb and fingers into the soft flesh of Lando's waist, who takes the opportunity to continue rutting against him. He knows, okay, Lando knows it's a possibility even as he tells everyone he's taking it one race at a time. There's a chance. But it's also Max. And Max is the driver he rates the most, why it feels so, so rewarding to beat him. 70 points is not nothing, in 9 races, anything can happen. A single safety car can change the entire standings.

Lando grinds against Max's thigh, bare skin against harsh sensations of cotton making him feel all sorts of frayed. This entire year, he wanted to be taken seriously as a title contender and now everybody's treating like it's a done deal, causing major whiplash.

"Why not? It's true." Max says matter-of-factly, appearing unruffled even as his pupils are completely dark drowning out that ocean blue as he watches Lando's breathing get faster and his hands on Lando are practically pulling his hips forward in rhythm.

"You've got the same chance as me, mate." Lando's heart rate is speeding up. He paws at Max's dick, which is now fully erect, and jerks it off in harsh strokes. It's a nice dick, average sized on the girther end, not terrifyingly large like in porn. Very friend shaped. "It's still anybody's game."

By anybody he means just the two of them. But then again, Max knows that too.

"I can only outdrive the car. You have the fastest car. 9 perfect races. Vettel's done it before," The 'I've done it' goes unsaid but heard regardless. "It's in your hands now."

The only trophy in Lando's hands right now is attached to Max. Fuck you, Lando thinks. When he was first starting to jerk off as a hormonal teenager, he was scared he was doing it so much he would rip it straight off. He imagines ripping it off Max, blood spurting everywhere, misses the race, the championship is secured. He doesn't actually want to do that. He imagines getting on his knees, and taking Max's length in its entirety in his mouth - the way he can never quite manage in real life - look up at him, recently as heavenly light shines on him. The pressure is building in the pit of Lando's stomach, he's thinking every thought that crosses his head to find the one that pushes him over the edge into sweet release.

"When you're in the fastest car, everything below first in underperforming." Max is rolling his own hips now too, voice more breathy.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Lando snaps, emotional regulation out of bounds, as if he isn't very well aware of the mountain to climb, the ones Max has scaled and back. They're all fucking competitors. Second place is first loser.

Max pulls Lando close, their dicks finally, finally making contact through two thin layers of cotton. Still, he can feel the weight, the shape of it under him and it feels obscene. Like pretend sex, instead of the real thing. The touch feels electrifying, even as it's not enough. They're in a kind of fucked up embrace, hips moving in tandem. Max pats Lando's back reassuringly, going down to his spine.

"Come on. We can be World Champion, Lando." His words are mocking, but they do it for Lando who buries his groan into Max's neck, feeling his orgasm being pulled out from him.

Max doesn't let him relish in the afterglow, wastes no time in taking Lando's hand and pulling it down his pants and jerks himself off. He bites Lando's shoulder as he finishes, making Lando twitch, spilling over both of their hands.

Finally, Lando flops over him on the sofa, both of them sharing wet patches on the front of their underwear. When the high from the orgasm subsides, the shame of rubbing one out against his main rival's leg and wanting his approval creeps in.

9 perfect races swims in his head.

He knows Max will do everything in his power to win, it just doesn't occur to him he's one of those things too.

[transsexualhamlet]

so as some of yall may know I work in my college at the school's costume shop, with higher pay (by 50 cents per hour lol) than the other workers because I have the role of Costume Shop Jonathan Sims.

because the costume shop was moving from one building to another (due to the old one being filled with asbestos and mold+ not having drinkable water in the building for several years) I haven't gotten to actually do any work for that actual position yet. However today was the first time I actually got to do duties for this job, and really. got a sense of how Gertrude Robinson Fucked the costume collection really is.

For scale, the college's historic costume collection has over 1000 garments from throughout the 1800s and 1900s, and this costume collection has been managed almost exclusively by overworked college students paid 8 dollars an hour who each had the position for less than three years and had basically zero qualifications in archival. (sound familiar?)

The costumes are all held in about 100 large extremely dusty boxes of various sizes and shapes precariously balanced in a cramped room, which are all labeled variously with at least 3 different non-correlating numbers and with various unlabeled clothes inside with zero organizational system. This collection is Not Being Moved with the rest of the costume shop, and therefore my job has me, and only me, continuing to work in the asbestos mold building with various insect infestations and several orders for its demolishing in effect.

Um. So today I got access to the google drive which has "everything I need for my job" in it. The google drive is the least organized thing I have ever seen in my life, of which the folders consist of

no longer needed docs for grants long passed

personal student projects unrelated to the shop

LIKE FIVE DIFFERENT NON-CORRELATING ORGANIZATIONAL SPREADSHEETS ALL CLAIMING TO BE THE CORRECT ONE, each of which has non-explained color coding, different accession number systems and box numbers, and dozens of "MISSING" notes

6 or so different documents on how the position was supposed to be run from various past collection managers, one from 2011, one from 2013, one from 2015, one from 2019, and one from 2023, literally none of which match up and all denounce each other

an untitled document which literally just says "9/22/23: everything is messed up and it's terrible"

One thing about me is that within two months I fear I will be hiding in secret tunnels mumbling into a tape recorder.

so my job today, as the professor in charge of the costume shop told me, was to "look at the spreadsheet and familiarize yourself with the descriptions of the clothing in Box 1." The "final" spreadsheet which she sent me and told me was the right one had only boxes. Um. 3-75. It just started with 3. The "old" spreadsheet started with box 10, and a hidden third spreadsheet did include a box one, but with zero descriptions attached to it. When asked, the professor tells me that I should "just treat box 3 like box one" and "disregard the actual box one". We are unaware if there is an actual box labeled with the number 1 in the costume shop.

because we are not technically allowed in that building anymore (which jobs like mine disregard) the facilities no longer comes in to clean the building. there is a MASSIVE earwig infestation in the costume shop and there is NOTHING we can do about it

she literally just told me "if you see them step on them"

....so well, you know what happened to me if I start showing up in your dreams covered in eyes, I guess

[alexiswritingstuff]

Saved by the unexpected.

Pairing: Frank Castle x teen! reader (Gender Neutral)

Other appearances: Micro, aka David Lieberman. 

Summary: Your run to the grocery store goes sideways on the way back home that leads you to being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and with a fresh gunshot wound. Upon waking up you find yourself somewhere unknown with people you had never seen... Or so you thought.

Warnings: gun fights, murder, gun shot wound, mentions of other injuries like cuts and bruises, implied parent loss. 

Be aware of possible spelling mistakes or sentences that are worded wrong. I read over my writing before posting but stuff still manages to slip under my radar!

A/n: Bro I really am bad at creating titles for fics. Anyway, I watched The Punisher a few months ago, and previously finished DareDevil, and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about a certain Mr. Castle. That man in general already activated my daddy issues and then I watched season 2, and... Yeah, that was a lot, but this is what my brain created! 

Like I say whenever I write for new characters, because this is my first attempt, the way portray them and the characteristics may not be a 100% accurate, so bear with me while I find my footing.

Either way, I hope you enjoy reading! 

It was supposed to be a morning like any other. One that started with a bright sky and chirping birds before slowly melding into the warm afternoon. 

You had just done the weekly shop, collecting everyday items, things that would give the most important nutrients, with basically the same amount in snacks and drinks. 

I mean, what else could they mean by a balanced diet?

The main route you would usually take had been closed off by the time you had finished with the store, the road cracked from something unknown, meaning that you had to take a detour. 

It was one that you had walked through many times before, leading you almost directly towards where your trailer was stationed without having to wind round block after block of apartments. 

So, the decision to choose it was simple. 

You took off down the pathway between two very large buildings that almost looked as if they could reach the sky from your angle.

This part was more commonly known as the run down area. The complexes on either side of you were empty. Most had the windows boarded up, due to the lack of repair, and the walls themselves were stained from a plethora of things. 

Some parts even looked about ready to fully crack and crumble. 

It was a lot harder to get funding for these buildings the further they got from the main street. The only people even coming here were probably residents from some that managed to become apartments. But the rest was pretty much just abandoned property.

You had moved under an overhang section created by the walkway above, connecting the two opposing buildings. It honestly sort of felt like a tunnel due to its width, but definitely not by length as you were quickly welcomed by the next area. 

To the left, behind a wall that separated a descending pathway from the ground levelled with your own feet, was a car park. 

The size of it would give the implication that there was a mass of vehicles coming in and out during the week, easy access for people working in the surrounding buildings. 

Though now, it was always empty.

… Or it was supposed to be. 

In the furthest corner was this very specific looking handful of cars; big and black, almost blocky in structure. A sight that should have been acknowledged as the first sign. Your first warning. 

But not fast enough.

Out of nowhere, there was this echo that felt like it drilled through your ear drums. It was a violent sound, one that rung for almost a full minute through the complex to your left. 

It wasn’t something you really questioned off the bat, somehow. I mean, the building was old. 

It could’ve been a loose panel finally deciding to break free from the ceiling, or a cracked wall weighing in on itself. Maybe even someone trying to fix up the damn building.

In fairness, those assumptions weren’t exactly bad... 

They were just the wrong ones. 

The sounds repeated, and whatever it was reverberated from the broken windows in a way that properly allowed it to be heard in its entirety. It was closer this time, more full. “What the...”

It was a series of bassy pops, collectively almost imitating the blast of fireworks, but within the sounds were these clinks like something was falling on the floor right after. 

And though it was a very muffled detail, that took a moment for your brain to register, it didn’t stop the cogs from making their final turn. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Within the same moment that you had made the decision to practically slide to the side, trying not to completely slam into the wall that you ended up behind, the doors of the building burst open with such force that it echoed.

There was a chorus of yelling, even more shots, and heavy boots that practically skidded against the concrete as they moved. Like you had just stumbled across a damn army.

You were sat on the ground, one leg stretched out from your hurried movements while the other was still bent at the knee, ready to move if necessary. The backpack was still strapped around your shoulders meaning that the further you tried to press against the brick wall, the more certain items began to stab into your back.

Your heart was hammering, chest heaving, as you continuously looked up and down the path you sat on. 

It was the only thing you could see. Everything was happening on the other side of the wall, so pretty much all you could do was just sit and listen for the people that might decide to come your way.

You fought the urge to cry out when bullets skimmed the top of the wall, causing little clumps of rubble and dust to hit the top of your head. “Why me, why me, why me!” you hissed through a whisper, trying to ruffle the stuff out of your hair. 

Hurried shouts were passing back and forth across the huge car park like a game of tennis, though it seemed that due to the other sounds that followed, and the panicked state of your mind, all of them were unintelligible. It sounded like they were coming from everywhere.

The multiple objects in your bag had started to make your spine ache so, at the same time as yet another shot, you leaned forward. Quick enough that the sound of items unsquashing themselves would ring at the same time as the bullet. 

You reached back, making sure that your bag wasn’t going to hit any surface, and then took it off one arm at a time before the bag was finally placed in front of you.

Your fingers immediately unzipped it to begin the search. You wanted some kind of weapon, or if not that then at least some form of protection... But you had in fact just gone shopping. 

I doubt a banana would be useful in a gun fight. 

So, you moved onto the pockets that sat on either side of the bag. A huff of air passed through your lips while your hand shuffled through the left pocket. You felt around, following the lining of stitches for at least something, but the most found was a wrapper from some candy or gum. 

So, it was on to the next. 

This time, to do the same routine, was a bit more difficult as this pocket was where you kept your water bottle. A more careful process as you started to comb through the compartment. 

And then, finally, you felt something.

In that moment it was hard to tell what it was. It felt long enough to at least administer some form of damage, or maybe only threaten someone from a distance, so your stressed mind just chose it. You began pulling your hand out. 

But, despite what you wanted, it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

Right as the item had been tugged vertically, an attempt to make it easier to pull it out, the movement had caused the bone of your wrist to hit into the bottle.

Ordinarily, it was something that you wouldn’t think twice about. You were just trying to get an item out of a pocket, surely you could do that without something bad happening... 

However, half of whatever you were trying to grab had been stuck under the bottle in a way that already had it tilting. And then the impact landed. Your wrist hit near the top of the bottle and that was all it needed. 

It started to tip out of the pocket. 

A sharp breath sucked into your lungs at the feeling, but with no ability to catch it in time, the metal cylinder simply fell to the floor from a very unfortunate height for you. 

In fact, even after the sound echoed in a way that most definitely had already blown your cover, the world seemed to have other plans for you as after yet another bounce and a few more smaller ones, it was starting to roll. 

You leaned to the side as fast as you could, reaching your arm out to its full extent with your hand wide open. But it was like trying to catch a fly, and soon, it just rolled right passed your fingers, moving even faster the more the water sloshed inside of it. 

The only thing you could do was watch in utter horror as the bottle travelled right passed the edge of a wall for the whole world to see. 

And eventually, about halfway through the path, it ran into a rock or a crack in the ground. The bottle bounced about one more time before it finally stalled. Though, at this point it didn’t really matter. 

The shots had placated a bit, the only ones being fired sounding farther away, as murmurs of confusion had dispersed through men on the other side of the wall. 

“What was that?

“Did you hear that?

“Where did that come from?” 

Your eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting into the skin of your bottom lip as your body just purely froze no matter how much your brain was telling you to make a run for it. 

“Okay, okay, all of you keep moving! Spread out more while I check it out. We’re not alone out here!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Okay, sir!”

However many people were on the other side of the wall scattered within the next beat of your heart. More shots and shouts began to ring out with the same loudness, now joined by the heavy smacking of boots as they moved further away...

But a pair of footsteps still remained. 

Now, your heart was purely thumping in your ears. It was by far the most prominent thing you could hear in that moment, though the sound of those harsh shoes kicking up stones without care was an active competitor. 

Especially when they started getting louder. 

Your eyes flicked to the open backpack in front of you, an ache beginning to pulse through your forehead while you stared at the contents. 

There was this sort of desperation, and almost disappointment, that built in your system at the thought of losing the freshly bought items. Though, what was the point in trying to save the food if you wouldn’t be alive to eat it. 

Within the next second, and after a very deep breath, you propped your hands firmly against the path below on either side of your body. You pushed your strength into the unstretched leg until it was folded under you. 

By now you looked like some kind of runner getting ready to do race, and honestly it was pretty much how you felt. The thought was the only thing suppressing the panic active in your chest, so you indulged.

There was this internal count down as you moved your other leg behind, even if there wasn’t that much space to do so. And then the timer went off. 

You were about to push yourself onto your feet. About to get up, adopt a sort of hunched over posture so that no part of your body could peak over the wall, and run like hell.

But again. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

A movement was caught from the corner of your eye. 

You had barely even started carrying out your wanted movements when a man suddenly appeared right round the corner of the wall, slow and intense. 

He was pretty decked out from what your panicked mind could comprehend. There were a multitude of weapons that clung to his belt, and he was in fact holding this massive gun. 

Initially, his focus was on your bottle. The barrel of the gun was pointed directly at the object of confusion, as it didn’t really look like the standard water bottle from afar, his finger hovering over the trigger. Ready to fire at any moment. 

At this point you had resumed this sort of weird crouched position, stuck between wanting to stand up and staying frozen to the ground as if you could just meld into it. 

Either way, it was the kind of stance that didn’t provide a sense of balance. And soon, despite how much the dread utterly pooled at the bottom of your stomach like it did on a rollercoaster, you fell. Right on your ass.

The gun, that you had pretty much only seen in movies or on the news, was pointed right in your direction before you could even blink. 

You attempted to crawl backwards, winding round your backpack, eyes wide and fully open as they trained on the man who in turn had started to follow your movements. And then you stopped, knowing full and well what was coming even if you got to your feet. 

Your breathing was erratic, arms moving stiff and slow as you raised them above your head with your palms open, facing the man who made no implications that he was going to put that gun down. 

“Listen,” You gulped, “I didn’t see anything, I swear-- Look, there. My bag is there-- Take it. Take anything.” 

“Anything you want.” 

It was no use. No matter what way the words tumbled from your mouth, that finger never tried to move away from that trigger. 

You closed your eyes, feeling the way your body heaved with every breath, the way your hands shook. Your ears listened out for the wind, the wildlife that had most definitely moved on from here already, or just something that wasn’t from guns. 

But then a shot rung out. Right in front of you.

It was an indistinctive reaction when your body jolted at the sound as it echoed through the large area and pinged within the windows of the abandoned buildings. You had almost fallen, your arms springing down even if you thought there was no time to protect...

You could still move?

Your eyes snapped open, the ability to take in full breaths yet to come, and you looked down at yourself. You tried to scan across what you could see of your body, that was somehow still alive, and leant on a hand to further support yourself. 

However, just as your brain attempted to register a lack of a gunshot wound, the sound of something hitting the ground stopped your investigation. 

Your head sort of bobbed for a moment, the want to continue your search fierce in your veins, before your gaze finally tore away.

The man before you had tumbled to his knees. His hands were moving around for a few seconds, desperately trying to grab a part of his chest as if in disbelief of what just happened. 

And then another shot fired. 

Like before, your body had jolted in response, still having no idea which gun it was coming from. 

However, when a particular part of you scrunched, the shock in your system decided to completely drain, your pain receptors activated in a way that you weren’t at all ready for. 

It was hard to pin point exactly where the feeling had originated as it spread like a wildfire, but it was intense enough that the arm you were leant against almost buckled within seconds. 

Sharp burning. A sensation that made it feel like you had been bitten by thousands of fire ants over and over again. 

Or, when you finally managed to get yourself to look down again, it was because you had in fact gotten shot. “Oh...”

He got you.

“Oh, shit.”

There was this hurried voice that bounced through the walls. Your head attempted to snap up like it had previously done, but this time it was just unsteady. Almost like it was moving in points.  

By the next blink, that practically didn’t even feel like one, another man had made his way round the corner. He also had a gun raised... but, it seemed different.

His general stance, the way he carried the weapon, the expression on his face even if you could only see half of it. It was clear that he had a lot more experience than the last guy. 

They weren’t from the same group. 

The man lowered himself onto one knee beside the body, head still raised cautiously to make sure to keep full awareness of his surroundings while he searched over any pockets he could see. 

And then he stilled. 

You didn’t have to move, or even make a sound, for this guy to spot you.

Within about a millisecond the man had the gun right back in his hands in a way that had you immediately raising your own despite the pins and needles that ached through your muscles.

The world around you was starting to spin, making it more difficult to pay attention to the mans movements. “Don’t... Don’t kill.” Your lips were heavy, the ability to even part them becoming some kind of workout. 

And then, like someone just flicked a switch, it was like all the strength and power in your body decided to dissipate at once. 

For the second time now, you fell. Though, in this instance, it was your back that collided with ground in a way that had your head smacking into the concrete path right afterwards. 

Every inch of your skin felt hot, yet cold at the same time. You were trying to move, wanting nothing more than to get back up and go home. Just curl up in bed and forget this ever happened.

But the ability to even budge a limb had faded from your brain until you couldn’t even feel if your arms were lifted in the air or not.

So, you just laid there, eyes staring blankly up at the sky while your eyelids acted like they had forgotten their main function. “Hey!” 

And right before you gave into that nagging want for them to close, something blocked whatever view you had left, “Kid? Hey, kid, are you... Oh, no-- Kid, can you hear me?” 

You could feel hands on your arms, and soon, one had pressed onto the wound in a way that urged a gurgling sound from your throat. 

“Kid!”

~~~

It took your brain a significant amount of time to realise that you had awoken when the time eventually came. 

The sensations within your body were either mild or piercingly intense. There was no in between. 

Every muscle in your face was rigid, aching in a way that made the want to move diminish within seconds. You were trying to blink, your eyelids remaining heavy and ignorant no matter how many attempts were made. 

It hurt to breathe. Any movement within your torso would stretch the skin closest to your armpit and immediately sent a crackle of fire spreading through it like a shock of electricity. 

Your muscles flinched, almost spasming, as you slowly reached back, trying to grip onto some part of whatever lay beneath you so that you could push yourself up.

There was no attention aimed at any sound that spilt through your lips and it was only when a harsh pain erupted, engulfing your shoulder, that you had realised how loudly a sort of strained yelp had burst from your throat. 

You fell back onto the pillow, the agony in your body burning so hot that it had you light headed.

If it wasn’t for your current state the sudden echo of quick footsteps would’ve registered a lot faster through your ears, and in your mind. 

There was words passing across the air, some may have been aimed at you for a response, but this was the first time you had fully managed to open your eyes since you had actually woken up.

Your head slowly turned as voices continued to echo, muffled no matter how many times it rung in your ears, until your right cheek met with the pillowcase. Your eyes cast through a metal wall, more so the frame of one, which looked as if it previously had some sort of murky glass within.

The place was massive. 

This dim lightly spread throughout most sections as the source above couldn’t reflect on any surface due to the fact that everything around was either a form of black or a gloomy grey. The lights themselves were also the kind of ones that aimed straight down, meaning that it would only cover what was directly beneath. 

“Hey.”

In the centre of the main area was this sort of ring. There was a walkway that cut through the middle so that people could get from one side to the other, and on either side were desks that followed the rim, a plethora of monitors and electronic devices cluttering the surface. 

Some you hadn’t even seen before.

“Hey, uh, kid?”

Your head snapped back into its previous position in a speed that felt like it shook your brain. You squeezes your eyes shut for a good minute before they opened again. 

And after blinking a few times, your vision came back into focus. 

There was this dude stood to your side. He was tall, slim in width with curled mid length hair and a beard that wasn’t connected to the moustache covering his lip.

“Oh, yeah-- Must be pretty disorienting to wake up in a place like this.” The way he sounded matched almost exactly like you had guessed. It was nice. Not harsh and not too soft. 

He held your gaze in such a way that made it seem as if he could see right through you, even taking a slight step back when he noticed how wide and cautious your eyes were set on him, “It might take some time for you to believe us, but I assure you that we don’t want to harm you. You’re all good... Well, I mean, apart-- apart from your injuries.”

“Generally, you’re good-- Or like... Yeah.” 

Your hand lifted from where it had previously flopped and you reached it to your left shoulder, slow and steady. 

Your fingers travelled lower, gliding across the exposed skin before it reached the edge of tank top arm slot. Your movements halted in the space between the end of your shoulder bone and the beginning of your chest. 

Finally, you realised where the source of pain was coming from.

Somehow, the shot taken at you had landed right above your first rib. And from the uncomfortable feeling, constantly there, from what you were guessing was another bandage on your back. It had gone all the way through. 

The dude that had been previously talking cleared his throat after a moment. He was sort of shifting the weight back and forth from one foot to another, unsure of what to do or say which then ended up with him looking away. 

Your attention landed back on him, your arm happily moving back to lay by your side. Though, your eyebrows then furrowed, realising that the guys eyes had settled on something, and it even looked like he was asking a question.

So, after allowing yourself to give into your curiosity, you followed the direction he was looking in. 

You almost jumped out of your skin.

There, leaning against the thing you could barely call a wall, to your right was a guy stood perfectly still with his arms tight across his chest. 

It was that man from earlier. The one that found you. Saved you?

His eyes were already on your own which left the questioning gaze from the other dude unanswered. At first the muscles in his face were visibly tense, crinkled eyebrows, slightly narrowed gaze, jaw clenched tightly. 

And then you looked at him. 

In an instant it was like everything taking over his features eased. He raised his head a single time before it lowered back to where it was usually held. A greeting. 

“I’ll bet your hungry, huh?”

Your attention snapped back to the other dude once again to find that there was this gentle smile pressing into his lips once your eyes met his. 

The question circled round your mind for a good few seconds before it fully processed. It had you thinking, a silence falling within the little room while the hum of electricity barely caught your ears. 

In all honesty hunger had been the last thing on your mind. To solve the sudden mystery was even more difficult since you couldn’t even remember the last thing that passed through your body, other than a bullet. 

Though, right before you could even try to figure out the wanted response was to be, it seemed like your stomach decided to do it for you as it suddenly rumbled through the quiet. 

It may have not exactly sounded like some kind of missile, but considering the building was very echoey and your lack of answer had created a pause within the people stood in the room, it was louder than any other sound at that moment. You were horrified.

The man with his arms crossed dared to huff a quiet laugh through his nose and before you could even send him a look, or give any sort of reaction for that matter, the other guy took a step back with this expression on his face.

He was practically beaming as he clasped his hands together, “Good answer.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed once again, gaze now following the man as he moved round of what you now realised was a cot underneath you and out through the doorway a moment later.

You were going to attempt to continue watching him, wanting to know where he was walking despite the context clues, but after trying to look through the empty frames in the wall, the figure of the quiet dude blocked your view.

And for the first times since your initial meeting, if you could even call it that, your eyes properly took him in. 

Regardless of the position of his spine from the leaned pose, his posture was sharp. Straight like he had to practice it many times. He was tall too, though a little shorter than the other guy. 

The hair on his head looked like it was just growing out from being shaved, the sides a lot shorter than the top. It looked like a marine cut. 

Admittedly, he could’ve done his hair that way cause he simply wanted to. But you saw him earlier. 

He knew the ins and outs, every little detail, of the gun he held strong in his arms. You saw his stance, one that could more commonly only be from having to do it 24/7. 

And where was the most known place where you had to stand at attention almost every day?

Any item of clothing that covered his body was full black, including the shoes and his belt, which was a drastic contrast to any skin that was exposed. It also meant that you could spot any cut or bruise he had very easily. 

There was a good few on his face. Some had become scabs already, looking like they had been there for some time, while others almost looked fresh. The most noticeable appeared like it followed his cheekbone. 

Your eyes immediately snapped away upon realised that you had been looking at him for so long that he had in fact noticed it. I mean, there wasn’t really anything else to occupy his mind. 

You tried to shift your body against the cot, a mixture of wanting to distract yourself and a test to see how much you could move without it hurting. 

But either way, it was hard to do anything without being able to properly use a side of your body.

So, ultimately, you were stuck. Trapped under a blanket which forced you to lay flat on your back, against something that you wished had the same feeling as your bed, while sounds started to echo from what you were guessing was the kitchen. 

“Hey, kid.”

The voice that hit your ears was a lot gruffer than expected, gravelly enough that it almost sounded like it was hurting his throat. The way the words passed through his lips were clear, but also hushed as if he was trying not to be loud for an unknown benefit. “What were you doing out there, hmm?” 

With his stance, you half expected that whatever he wanted to say was going to come out harsh. That he was going to yell and tell you off for something. But he didn’t. He was... actually concerned?

“It’s a decent walk from the store you went to.” he then added on, and now that seemed to get your attention. 

Your head rolled to the side, narrowed gaze finding him with a newfound cautiousness. 

The man in turn must’ve realised the suspicion his wording caused, so he simply gestured to the side with his head, “I got your bag.”

Sure enough, as you moved your lower against the pillow, it was in fact there. The first familiar thing you had seen all day was sat on the ground beside the guy. It may have had some slight rips, some of the material had even been scuffed enough that it was visible. 

But it was there. Zipped up and everything.

Your favourite backpack.

Despite your distance, the bag looked plump with some of the contents clearly poking against the sides of it. All of the items were still in it. Hell, even the water bottle was back in the same side pocket you always put it in.

“We couldn’t find your name in the system,” the man spoke again, and honestly you had forgotten that he was there regardless of the fact that he stood next to where you eyes were aimed. “Did your parents know where you were?”

You looked at him within seconds of the question catching your ears and that dread from earlier began to pool at the bottom of your stomach all over again. 

I mean, you should’ve expected the question at some point.

It was common for you to forget that other people could look at you and see a child, ask the whole ‘where are you parents’ when you had to buy stuff that apparently didn’t seem normal for a child to get, even if it was just household items. 

You will never forget the time you tried to buy scissors. 

But the question still stung. It would make all of the memories of countless things flood right back until it was fresh in your mind, creating a wave of nostalgia that you hated at this point. 

Your head slowly rolled back to its previous position, your gaze now cast up at the rotting, grey ceiling while a deep breath seeped through your nose. Your body practically deflated when it went back out. 

Like before, you didn’t need to say anything for the guy to understand the situation.

Obviously, from your position, you couldn’t clearly see him as anything more than a blurred blob from the corner of your eye, but he had sort of loosened his crossed arms. Was the look of loss that clear on you?

How could he even notice it that quick?

Your body almost jolted when he cleared his throat and pain shot through your shoulder that had you biting back a grunt.

“Listen, we’re not-- We’re not going to hurt you... all right?” His tone was different this time. Lighter in a way that reduced the grumble of his voice, even if it didn’t sound unpleasant. “You’ve been here for a few days so that the, uh, big guy could fix up your shoulder.”

“That’s all.”

From the feeling of his gaze aimed in your direction, you could tell that he was doing what you had done, except he was more so trying to analyse your movement no matter how miniscule. 

It made you nervous enough that your mind was trying to zone in on the sounds coming from the kitchen, fiddling with the fabric of the blanket. But that just meant that a silence had started to layer. 

“Can you speak?”

Your body stiffened within a matter of seconds. 

At this point there was no reason for you to remain quiet. It was unclear as to why it had even been done in the first place. Was it to conceal your voice? Hide your identity? 

Even then, they had already ready seen your face and might possibly have looked through your backpack. The things they’ve could’ve known about you were unknown.

Maybe it was that thing you were told as a kid that kept you holding your tongue. You know, the whole stranger danger thing? Do not interact with people that you don’t know unless absolutely necessary. 

People seemed to get stuck on specific moments in the past regardless of it directly links to a moment of stress, or trauma, if you remembered correctly what that article said. Maybe that was your thing?

Your contemplative eyes flickered over the ceiling above for another moment before they finally made the decision to move, and so did your head. Once again, it rolled to the side until your right cheek touched the pillow.

You met his eyes. His gaze anything but harsh no matter how long a silence remained.

This guys wasn’t strange. 

I mean, the concept of waking up in some massive building that you didn’t recognise with two other dudes that you had never met before was in fact a little, sure.

But there was no reason given beyond that as to why you should fear either of them. Be scared of them. 

After all the dude talking to you had in fact saved your life.

You sniffed, that same feeling of nervousness making a comeback the longer the eye contact was held. It had you needing to look away for a few seconds before your eyes went right back. You stiffly nodded your head. 

The man straightened his back against the metal, his spine probably tired of the frame digging into it. His gaze sort of narrowed for a moment. Maybe a few questions sprung into his mind? Maybe he was judging you, or needed to sneeze? Who knows.

“You just won’t.” He nodded his head once, the look in his eyes switching to something unreadable as he got the message despite the lack of words, “That’s... No. No, I get it.”

“Well, I’m Frank. Uh,” he began, dragging out the last sound for a little bit as he tried to locate something through the wall behind you, “Dude in the kitchens name is David. I usually call him Lieberman, that’s... It’s his last name-- He’s the big guy I was talking about. Dude who fixed up your arm.”

“I tried to help too, but, uh... Not exactly my field of expertise.” 

You were about to figure out some kind of gesture to make in response so that you wouldn’t leave him hanging again. And had even started to move your arm. 

But then that name cycled through your head once more. 

Frank... Castle. 

Frank Castle.

It seemed that the cogs had made their final turn once again. His face found their link to certain memories in your mind.

Holy shit. 

He was the guy on the news a while back. The dude had been deemed a vigilante as he had been running around and killing bad people-- Well, it was practically only you and a few other people that thought they were the bad guys.

Either way, after that trial thing, the man that was currently stood to the side of you had supposedly died. Killed in an explosion on some kind of boat, if you remembered correctly.

I mean, it could be that you were the one who died and this was just what came after. And honestly if you were still as delirious as you were before it might have been believable, but that pulsing burning in your shoulder said otherwise. 

So, it was true. He really was here in the flesh, and all in one piece. 

Frank Castle was alive. 

Your expression, and maybe how intensely you had been staring at him, must’ve given away your thought pattern as he sort of tilted his head when he noticed the shift in your eyes, “You know me?” This time your gaze remained unfleeting in the line of attention. 

Frank didn’t seem at all worried about the realisation of his identity. In fact the only change in his expression was done to display his curiosity to the new information. 

Sure, worst comes to worst, he has the upper hand at this moment and it would probably be the same at any other. He could do whatever he needs to do to make sure that you wouldn’t blab before you blinked even once. 

But from his worn out state, and the way he interacted with you, it was visible that he wasn’t going to do that. He must’ve been fighting for quite some time before he had stumbled upon you. 

Why the hell was he even there? Out in the open in a place like that?

Who were those other guys?

Regardless of the want to let your mind flow down that rabbit hole, you were fronted with your previous realisation as your eyes actually focused on Frank again.

You were right. Frank  Castle wasn’t the bad guy.

Without paying attention to it, there seemed to be this smile that began to curl at the corners of your mouth. You moved your head began to move back to its your previous position, your eyes wanting to find the discoloured ceiling to zone out on in a way that further made you forget about your pain--

Shoes suddenly scuffed against the hard ground in a way that stilled all over your movements. Your gaze flickered to whatever had joined you in the room as apparently you had missed the approaching footstep.

It was David, the height difference between the two guys now a lot clearer as he had stopped beside the man whose arms were yet to uncross. “Can you hold this for a second?” Until now. 

Frank sort of looked at the man for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again before he complied to the request. And the moment the plate had been taken into his hands, David moved as if on autopilot. “All right,”

He wound round the foot of your cot, taking back the same position he stood in when you woke up, “Gonna need to sit up so you can actually digest this shit.”

He felt a little bad when he saw the look on your face, though he remained still while you prepared yourself, starting to fidget with his hands. He didn’t want to touch you without permission, but it appeared that your eyes were already closed.

You slowly but surely moved the arm of your injured shoulder to sling across your torso, hoping the position would stop it from moving about too much. And then you braced yourself, awaiting whatever sensations were about to come. 

By the time a hand had been placed on your body, your teeth were already gritted. One was placed on your back, a way to properly bring guide you into the needed position, while the other gently cupped the back of your head so that everything would move in unison. 

“Deep breath.”

The pain was immediate. It was such a thing that purely seared up a side of your body. Engulfed everything in its path.

It was impossible to see from your closed eyes, but there was a reaction from the man stood to the side when a slight whine escaped your throat. He had stepped forward, looking as if he was about to reach out if he didn’t have something in one of his hands. 

It was thoughtless. A movement that he had undone the moment he had realised by pressing back against the wall. But it happened nonetheless. 

David was muttering stuff of assurance, many forms of sentences letting lose into the air. You couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t catch onto a singular word. 

All you could think about was the pain. How stupid it was that you made the decision to take that route. How you didn’t run back the way you came after that first shot. Or how you didn’t even end up trying run until it was too late. 

Your legs bent at the knees the more your torso raised, as if trying to protect it of something, which slightly kicked up your blanket and made the heels of your feet dig into the cot below. “There you go, there you go!”

It was like a ripping of a band aid. 

At first, it was the stage of holding onto the edge, trying to hype yourself to get it over and done with. And then it was off. It may give a twinge of pain that lingered more than wanted, but overall the act had been complete.

“Right on, that’s you done.”

And so had yours. 

The biggest breath of relief huffed out of your mouth in a way that had David wanting to lightly pat your back, but it could accidently hurt you. So, instead, he resorted to turning his attention Frank, hurriedly gesturing towards the thing he held.

The man in question seemed to shake his head as if trying stifle his amusement, though he took a step forward to hand over the plate either way.

And then, by the next time you had blinked, it was held out in your direction. You just looked at it for a moment. 

It was a sandwich. One that may have been made with the most simple ingredients, and was probably the exact replica of what you would picture in your head upon hearing the name, but for some reason your whole body yearned for it. 

The plate was in your hands within seconds.

David took a step back, a slight smile reappearing on his lips at the progress. He gestured to the plate you held in the same position and then towards your mouth, seeming like he couldn’t get himself to stand still, “Eat up.”

You were. 

Oh, a thousand percent, you were getting ready to chow down on something, since the last time solid food had been eaten was probably the day you had gotten shot. And even then, you had no clue as to when that was.

However, right as you were about to bring the plate onto your lap, grab onto the sandwich and consume it with the upmost excitement... You paused. Stopped right in your tracks. Eating by yourself felt a little weird.

You looked back at David. 

It took him a moment to realise that your eyes were on him again. But when he did, he sort of rocked on his feet. His eyebrows furrowed as he sent a look towards Frank, “What, um... Is it-- Is it bad, or something?”

There was a mixture of confusion and almost offence tugging at certain features and it had your head shaking immediately.

Within the next minute, it was almost like a game of charades as you attempted to relay the words in your mind. 

The plate remained in the hand it did before. You bent your left arm at the elbow, trying to avoid any movement that would attack the area surrounding your wound, and you gestured. 

The first time you pointed your index finger at him and then at the plate, but he merely blinked. So, you then did it in reverse, directing the line of attention to the plate and then him. 

Frank even seemed confused as he watched with narrowed eyes, apparently unable to deduced the situation himself which still left David with nothing. “Kid, I don’t... I can��t understand what you’re trying to say, are you-- are you allergic to something?” 

“Are you asking me what’s in it? If I made it, what--”

Biting back the biggest sigh of your life, and in the fastest way that you could in that moment, you restored to just holding out the whole plate towards him. Even repeated the previous gesture one final time to make your point. 

“Oh,” David dragged out the sound as he began to nod. Finally, he understood, “Yeah, man, I’m boutta make my own.”

He remained for only a moment more, watching as your plate slowly lowered to your lap so that it wouldn’t drop. And then he started walking again, moving back around the edge of the cot before making his way through the doorway.

Franks eyes were already on your own by the time your head turned in his direction, as if he expected it to happen. 

This time without accompanying the movement with gestures, you simply held out the plated food towards him. Franks head shook instantly, he even waved a hand, “It’s for you, kid. Need to get that strength back.” 

His eyes directed towards the kitchen almost immediately after. He was either counting on David possibly making him one or waiting for him to leave the kitchen so that he could do it himself.

Thing is though, he only gave you a reason as to why you should keep the sandwich held for yourself.

He didn’t say no. 

The plate was brought back to your legs, flat against your thighs, and then you began looking around. Your eyes scanned across any close surface for something that could be used as a cloth, something to wipe your hands with, but there was no luck. 

You resorted to just scrubbing your palms, and more importantly your finger tips, against the cleanest clothing you had under the blanket. And then you grabbed the sandwich. 

Despite what Frank thought was going to happen by the time his attention was once again redirected towards you, when the sandwich was held horizontally in your grasp, instead of bring it to your mouth and taking a bite. You began... pulling at it each side? 

It started to rip.

“What are you doing?” he questioned pretty much immediately, his face and voice both riddle with confusion. And maybe even a little disturbance. But that didn’t stop your movements at all. 

In fact the only time you had stopped was when the entire thing had been torn through the middle, completely halved. However, even after that, you reached for one of the parts. You took it from the plate, stuffing it into the hand of your unmoving arm.

And then you held out the plate all over again to the man with very furrowed eyebrows. 

He just looked at the poorly halved sandwich for a moment, a part of it being more of the contents that the bread, and then his eyes found yours. There was an unreadable expression within them.

When he still didn’t take it, and due to the fact that your arm was starting to get tired, you redid your act of holding it out towards him. 

And this time he couldn’t withhold a response. 

Frank scoffed, shaking his head in the same amusement from earlier while he stared at the plate calling his name, “You’re very persistent, aren’t ya.” 

Despite his point still standing, the consistent want for you to get the nutrients needed to fully recover, it was like he couldn’t say no to you. At least to your face. So. Frank took the plate.

The next few minutes were spent by the two of you choosing the perfect side of the sandwich and then going to town, chowing down on it like it was the first one either of you had ever had. 

And man, that David could sure make a meal, even if it was just slapping ingredients between slices of bread.

“Damn!”

Seemed like someone else agreed with you.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing all this time, huh, Lieberman? Cookin’” Franks words were incredibly muffled despite his constant chewing, but either way the sound still echoed. A laugh soon followed while something poured, “What else would I do, man? Wasn’t just gonna do nothing.”

“Well, you can add cooking to your... I don’t know, list of talents or something.” Every time that man spoke, his head lowered right back down so that he could see the plate, taking another massive bite that you were just waiting for him to start choke on.

“Why did you... Why did you say it like that?” David's voice was more monotonous than usual, either playing fake offence or he was too preoccupied with arranging the order of his sandwich ingredients. 

You took another bite, a piece of lettuce almost falling onto the blanket without you knowing. Frank turned towards the kitchen again, speaking midway through putting a part of the sandwich in his mouth, “Like what?” A plethora of crumbs fell onto the plate in a way that made your nose crinkle.

“Like... Are you lying to me? Lying isn’t very nice, Frank.” 

“Nah, come on, man, I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t say that If I didn’t mean it, you know that-- You could put these in a-- a--  a sandwich shop--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” David practically grumbled at this point, placing down what sounded like a butter knife on the counter before he sniffed, “That at least mean that our little friend likes it too?”

Frank turned to you, placing the little chunk of sandwich he had left onto his plate before he rubbed the fingers that touched it together. 

You swallowed down your bites, the act proving to be a little harder to from the lack of eating solid food, and noted the fact that he was awaiting some form of answer to relay to David. 

Your sandwich was finished by now. It wasn’t a contest but it was almost wild how fast it had been consumed. And now you sat there, wiping your hand against your trousers while attempting to get any food stuck between your teeth. 

And then you cleared your throat, your nose scrunching for a second when the action ended up shaking your chest a little too much, “Y/n.”

Frank had turned his towards the kitchen moments prior. He had parted his lips, even slightly leaned back against the wall to get a proper view of the man awaiting an answer through the empty frames. 

Now his head snapped in your direction, eyebrows raising more than you had even seen, “What was that?”

You may have made the ultimate decision to use your voice in the first place, however, having that gaze of his on you once again caused this overwhelming feeling to surge through your body. 

Your spine had straightened, this time managing to ignore the shock of pain that hit your system, while your eyes widened just a smidge.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

The echo of David's voice had caused you to turn to where he stood in the kitchen, still busied with making another one of his masterpieces. It was something done half out of anxiousness and just wanting to distract yourself.

And then it made you think.

Surrounding you was this big, more empty than full, abandoned building. The only other people there was Frank, a man who was supposed to be dead, and David... who you presumed was also most likely to be the same due to their team up. 

If they were going to kill you, or hurt you, they would have done so already. 

But even then, when you woke up this morning you hadn’t been restrained or anything. There was nothing keeping you there other than the fact that they wanted to treat your wounds. 

A deep breath filtered through your nose as your eyes slowly met with Franks again. 

His expression was practically the same as it was before you had looked away, giving you a patience no one ever had. The gaze he held was warm. Encouraging. 

Thus, you swallowed once again.

“My... name.” Your voice was hoarse from waking up not that long ago, but also from it’s lack of use. There was always this feeling in your throat as if something was stuck in it, and you coughed, the urge to squeeze your eyes shut presenting itself yet again when it shifted your shoulder.

But you composed yourself, sucking in another breath and rubbing your hands against your legs while David was still left with no answer, “It’s Y/n.”

Franks head had already been nodding before you had finished saying your set of words. He pursed his lips, finally swallowing down the bite he had previously taken.

Frank sniffed, turning his head towards the kitchen yet again. Though this time it seemed like he did so to conceal the change of his facial expression more than to get David's attention. “You hear that, Lieberman?”

Regardless of his attempts to hide his reaction, the smile was clear on his lips. Such a one that it had even reached the skin around his eyes as they started to crinkle.

He looked back at you. There was this emotion on his face that remained unchanging. It seemed like a fondness, but at the same time he almost looked... proud?

“Y/n likes it.”

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

African Wild Silk Moth

Gonometa postica

The African wild silk moth is a part of the family Lasiocampidae. It was first described in 1855 by Francis Walker. It is also known as the Brandwurm in its larval stage in Afrikaans, Kweena in its pupal stage in Tshwana, and Molopo moth/mot in English and Afrikaans.

Description The female of this moth is much longer and larger than the male due to having to carry eggs. The male is about half the size of the female and much thinner.

The female has a light brown abdomen with a dark brown thorax and head. The female’s forewings are striped light brown, dark brown, and gray. The hindwings are a yellow-brown with a dark brown edge.

The male has a dark body and wings with a transparent portion of the hindwing.

Female Forewing Range: 35–42 mm (

Male Forewing Range: 21–25 mm (

Diet and Habitat Larva of this species eat Acacia erioloba, A. tortilis, A. melifera, Burkea africana, Brachystegia spp., and Prosopis glandulosa. The larva will feed from the same tree it’s entire life unless there are two many other caterpillars. When there is a large number of caterpillars, they may defoliate the whole tree and the larva must move in order to not starve.

This moth mainly inhabits savannas with many Acacia trees, especially in drier areas. These moths contribute to the Acacia environment by providing food to predators and nutrients to plants through feces. Cocoons are usually found on Acacia tees.

Mating Males detect females’ mating pheromones with their antennae. Males fly to the females because the females are weighed down by the eggs. The female contains about 200 eggs which are laid on the food plant after fertilization. Eggs hatch in about two weeks. Eggs are laid in clumps and the newly hatched caterpillars grow as a group and become more solitary with time.

Predators This moth is preyed on by parasitic wasps and flies. These insects lay their eggs on the caterpillar and feed off of its resources until the moth larva cocoons. The parasites live off the cocoon and grow to adulthood while killing the pupa. Specifically, these larva are subject to parasitism by Diptera and Hymenoptera, the most common parasitoids being Palexorista species from the Tachinidae and Goryphus species from the Ichneumonidae.[6]

To combat external predators and weather, the caterpillars build a tough cocoon. Caterpillars and their cocoons are also covered in stinging hairs to deter predators from touching them. Female cocoons are larger than male cocoons.

Fun Fact In Madagascar, wild silk has been harvested for centuries, and this knowledge has been introduced to southern Africa. The cocoons are harvested commercially in Namibia, Botswana, Kenya and South Africa, and the species also occurs in Zimbabwe and Mozambique. They are difficult to harvest due to the cocoons being covered in calcium oxalate. Oxford University discovered and patented a method known as demineralizing using a warm solution of EDTA (ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid) that soften the cocoons by dissolving the sericin. This lets the silk unravel without weakening it.

- Wild African silk moth cocoons are also used as ankle rattles in southern Africa by San and Bantu tribes. They are filled with materials such as fine gravel, seeds, glass beads, broken sea shells, or pieces of ostrich eggshell.

- Furthermore, the cocoons have long been known to cause the death of cattle, antelope and other ruminants in the Kalahari. During drought periods, the cocoons are eaten, probably because they resemble acacia pods. The silk is indigestible and blocks the rumen of multiple-stomach animals, causing starvation.

- Finally, the protein found in this species’s slik contains many basic amino acids making it a potentially useful biomaterial in cell and tissue culture.

(Source: Wikipedia, SANBI)

[tea-potato-gt]

Kæmpe Stør’s Life Part 2:

Part 1 here

By now Stør has been living with Joseph and Rudy for about 6 months. In that time, they have been teaching Stør how to interact with people smaller than him. They bought several mannequins for Stør to pick up and use all his strength on so he can know the limits of himself and other creatures. And eventually, Stør was allowed to pick up his parents when they ALL felt ready.

Stør is taught to only pick up people when absolutely necessary or if a person wants to be picked up. Stør cannot touch people outside his family without expressed permission and consent.

He’s also scolded for picking up objects that aren’t his, because of how easily he could accidentally break something. At the age of 6, Stør can pick up a motorcycle with one hand. It’s only a matter of time before he could pick up a car or a truck.

Joseph and Rudy never want Stør to think of objects or people as toys, which wasn’t really a problem in the first place, but they wanted to be sure. In order to adopt Stør, the couple made an agreement, that Stør could be taken away by the government at any moment for messing up or hurting someone.

—————————————————————————

House wise, Joseph and Rudy moved to a lot by the sea. There, they built a entire new house and off to the side a large barn that would house their growing giant child. Nobody knows how big Stør would/could get, so the couple decided to be safe and just build him a separate room/building that he can grow into. They also added several skylights on the house roof with hatches on the outside so if Stør gets tall enough he can open them and look inside the house.

The food and clothes issue was solved at the same time. Joseph’s best friend (Elijah) married (Magie) one of the most powerful Witches in the world. (Strega’s parents.) Joseph asked for her help. Magie developed a potion that, when put in food, would multiply its nutients and portions size to Stør’s. His clothes were enchanted by another powerful Witch. When Stør isn’t touching his clothes they are human sized, but as soon as Stør picks them up they grow proportional to his giant stature.

But the family needs to constantly get refill on Stør’s food potions, which leads to the young boy hanging around the Witch house hold a lot. There, Stør met and befriended Strega and her two older siblings (Lin & Jadis). Strega is 4 years old.

Learn more about Strega here

Stør and Strega: ☺️🥺

Stør also spent his days at the Witch house because both his dads had to work during the day. Elijah is a stay at home husband, so he watches Stør and Strega while Lin and Jadis go off to school.

When Stør first started being watched by Elijah, he’d cry when his dads dropped him off. He had SEVERE separation anxiety and worried his parents wouldn’t come back.

Stør at this point has not gone to school, his parents want to make sure he’s comfortable around other smaller people and understands the power/danger he could pose to those around him.

Elijah, Joseph and Rudy all worked to fill in Stør’s education he already was missing before sending him to a real school. Basic reading/writing/etc.

———————————-———————————————

After six months, Stør’s fathers felt he was ready to go to a real school.

At this age, being only 11 and a half feet tall, Stør can go inside the school, though he hits his head on the ceiling and door frames. He needs a large bean table for a desk.

At recess, Stør is forbidden from playing with the other kids for fear he might accidentally hurt them. So he sits to the side with the teachers all recess.

It's here that Stør meets Yilan, his future best friend.

Yilan didn’t want to play with the other kids during recess, so he hid behind Stør. There they begin talking and quickly become friends.

Yilan, much like Stør, was alone. Yilan is half human and half snake, a very dangerous combo leading many people to fear the 7 year old, much like people fear Stør.

More about Yilan here

_______________________________________________

Keep in mind, Stør is still a very energetic 6 year old and being cooped up all day unable to expel that energy is not doing the kid any favors. He became jittery, restless and irritated. Joseph and Rudy had to get creative.

They turned to the ocean in their very back yard. Rudy taught Stør to swim, he learned quickly and grew to love it. Everyday after school Stør would go to the beach with his fathers and swim. If he was frustrated? Swim. Happy or excited? Swim.

Being in the water became calming to him. He loves all kinds of water, the feeling of a stream through his fingers or just floating in the ocean. (Maybe that's why he likes to be around Mizu so much?🫣)

_______________________________________________

Part 3 here & Part 4 here

Master list

[zoomzooml]

[Worldbuilding] Protoforms and sparklings - basics.

Apologies for any translation errors. I'm doing my best to avoid them, but due to the fact that I'm a sleep-deprived human disaster they can still occur. Sorry!

PROTOFORMS

How are they created?

[Text under picture]

Vector Sigma in the depths of the planet creates a new Protoform and gives it a spark. The protoform is a primitive mechanism, resembling a mechanical larva, whose main purpose is to protect the spark during its first period of life.

The protoform digs its way to the surface. The tunnels they leave behind are barrenly small and usually collapse back quickly.

The protoform, after getting to the surface, leaves the underside in the soil, sticks to its place, and grows "roots" that will take up minerals and resources needed to build the actual organism.

The armor becomes a cocoon that grows as the organism inside grows and develops. As the mechanisms and organs of the body become more advanced, it begins to be called Sparkling.

The protoform can also build a cocoon on vertical walls; extremely rarely and only under exceptional conditions on the ceiling.

A fully built sparkling hatches from a cocoon. It is already at its maximum size (not including artificial expansions, rebuilds or upgrades) and has a full range of natural and instinctive abilities, such as transformation or movement.

Medical units with appropriate training perform hygiene and initial examinations and clean up the cocoon's shell, which will later be recycled.

It's worth noting that there were places on Cybertron where emerging organisms were a large percentage of the whole lot. Maturation Centers* were placed there. They were in charge of taking care of the sparklings in the first months of life to detect developmental anomalies, censusing the hatchlings, bringing them into the system and giving them identification (usually numerical), and looking for suitable places to send the young ones, which would provide further care and upbringing.

[*Maturing in terms of physical independence and presence in the census and institute’s system.]

Cursory information about cocoons and protoforms.

TAKING CARE OF THE COCOON

If the cocoon nests in an unsafe place, with nutrient deficiencies in the soil or simply threatening to be trampled, the cocoon should be moved. The first choice should be to transplant to a relatively better, safer place.

However, if the cocoon shows signs of disease it should be quarantined. If it shows difficulty in extracting materials from the soil, it may be necessary to place it in an incubator.

A malnourished or diseased cocoon can be recognized by a dull color of the armor, slowing or stopping of growth or discoloration. The shade of the armor may go gray and/or become covered with pinkish or yellowish spots. The armor may weaken and delaminate, and the roots may wither. The body proper of the protoform (the blob inside armor) also becomes discolored, grayed or yellowed.

If the cocoon is not threatened by anything, it should be left alone, being checked from time to time.

SPARKLINGS

After hatching, sparklings are noted for their many colors, which are usually pastel or near-pastel. As they age, the colors mostly dim or are covered with another color of choice, for aesthetic, cultural or regulatory reasons.

Individuals with several colors appear, usually in ombre-like form. However, they are rare.

The colors of protoformal tissue, like the face, can range in grays (also called blues), reds or, in rare cases, golds.

Probable colors of optics can be found almost anywhere on the color wheel, usually in bright and light shades.

Behaviorism

Young sparklings precociously observe and analyze. They will stay still observing surroundings. At the beginning many of them will not show emotion with their body, face or voice, most likely because they are not yet familiar with function of this and action. If the phenomenon they are interested in moves, they will follow it with their gaze, but they will not move their head unless absolutely necessary. Their staring may be repulsive to some. Learning about the environment seems to take priority over learning about the extent of their own body and capabilities.

Sparklings have full control over their body, but as some actions are instinctive and already coded others must be learned.

When this perennially quiet period of their lives is over the so-called period of heightened activity usually begin, in varying intensity. Now that they've learned the basics from observance it's time for experimentation, experience and exploration, which usually manifests itself in sticking their noses where they shouldn't, touching what they shouldn't, dropping and throwing objects, entering strange, theoretically inaccessible spaces and the like.

For the young, vocalization is rarely the first choice for communication. Rather, they rely on the simple language of the electromagnetic field for their initial period of life, sometimes reaching far into the period of heightened activity. This contains the means for very simple communication and is often supported by body language.

Already at the moment of hatching, the Transformer has information about its alt-mode and the ability to transform. In most cases, it will use this only after it enters a period of heightened activity. The alt-mode information is one of the primal codes, analysis of them is one of the evidences of the evolution of Transformers.

UPBRINGING

The vast majority of offspring are raised in the brood, and raising them is a communal task. Typically, multiple caretakers take turns caring for them, sometimes fulfilling different upbringing functions. If a sparkling manifests unusual talent in a certain field, it may receive individual upbringing by a specialist(s) in that field. [An extension to the topic is planned.]

FROM ME

The colors of these scribbles are completely different on the laptop and on the phone, so I don't know if they are as I think they are. Sorry if I accidentally hurted anyone's eyes lol

[mint-termsandconditions]

Kirby and Bandana Dee’s Expedition to Toadstool Thicket

Based off:

Some world-building for Toadstool Thicket because I was bored:

In Toadstool Thicket, you’ll find many inhabitants here, such as:

And most importantly:

Many craps decided to move to Toadstool Thicket after wanting to do more than just falling apart and exploding in a Kirby sub-game in a Kirby spin-off game (Mass Attack, my beloved). Craps love living in Toadstool Thicket and will clean up whatever trash they find! Which usually means they self-destruct, destroying the trash but also themselves in the process.

Tree:

Scientific name:

Arecaceae Muscaria

Other names include:

Palmstool:

The most common name for this tree is because it looks like a fusion of a palm tree and a toadstool.

Toad Trees:

Kids often call these trees Toad Trees, due to the Toad Trees having a large mushroom on the top of their base that can be bounced on. Most kids don’t know that toads can’t jump and frogs can.

Coconuts:

The trees mutated these coconuts to look and sometimes even taste like a mushroom. These coconuts evolved to no longer have their green outside due to their pattern being enough to ward off any animals. This energy that was used to make the green outside is now used to maintain their life expectancy. Due to the large mushrooms they host acting parasitic in nature.

Instead of there being a seed inside, there's a mushroom that has rooted itself in the meat of the shell. The mushroom seed makes the coconut dangerous to eat, but it's not impossible. With enough skill, the inhabitants of Toadstool Thicket learned to carefully remove the roots from the meat, allowing it to be consumed. The water, on the other hand, is much easier to prepare by filtering it through activated carbon.

The meat on the outside of the shell has the texture of a mushroom and the flavor of a coconut. The coconut water, on the other hand,  is more complicated. Depending on how big the mushroom in the coconut is, the water can have a broth-like taste to it. 

Notice the graph above:

Dot 1:

At dot 1, the mushroom is small, basically giving the coconut the classic coconut taste with barely any hint of mushroom.

Dot 2:

At dot 2, the mushroom is at its ideal size, the coconut water has a mushroom broth flavor with hints of coconut to balance out the saltiness of the mushroom. Perfect for any recipe that includes these coconuts. Chefs have killed to get the perfect coconut. It's also great bragging rights to say your dish is all natural and not modified to taste like the ideal coconut.

Dot 3:

At dot 3, the mushroom is large, giving the water a mushroom broth taste that's a bit too salty for anyone's liking.

Some dishes that can be made using the coconuts:

The coconut shells can also be used in dyes and give off a lovely red to maroon color.

Bird Statues:

These bird statues can be found everywhere in Toadstool Thicket. No one knows why they were made, but popular theories are:

-They were made to please their gods

-They were made in the image of their gods but were also used as guides to keep track of where you were in the forest

-They were made for their rulers who usually associated themselves with the gods.

But the even stranger thing about these statues is that there's a third version of this bird statue with longer wings but their heads are completely destroyed and with what researchers assume to be the beak, tucked under their wing. And unlike the other statues, are hollow.

There are three popular theories about what this statue could've been:

Theory #1:

They were large instruments designed to be performed for the Gods.

The reason for this is because the statue closely resembles a Bird God who is the embodiment of music and karma. This is due to its large wings and tail. There are also traces of DNA inside these mysterious statues.

Theory #2:

They were used to contain and filter water. This is because the statue could also resemble the Bird Goddess of water and life, who also had large wings and a tail. This one is the weakest theory of all three.

Theory #3:

They were used as coffins to respect and bury the dead. This is because (this is the final one) the statue could also resemble the Bird God of death. Along with the DNA that was mentioned earlier found inside the statue.

Alternatively, there's another theory that stems from the previous one that the statues were used for punishment. Forcing the person who has committed the crime to be trapped and sealed away in the statue until they die. This is because some people believe that the Bird God of music and karma is the same as the Bird God of death, making this an oddly poetic way to punish criminals. The DNA, and a more recent discovery that the old civilization was more strict on what was right or wrong with them having punishments being cruel and unusual, like eating a coconut with its shell on.

That’s all I want to say about Toadstool Thicket

I’m going to watch Over the Garden Wall now.

[entropyblog]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[the-log-ffl]

S10:W3

Fantasy Football Talk! 

Only two teams are left undefeated, The Turds and The Sluts, and wouldn���t you know it, they’re matched up in week 4 and projected within a few points of one another. This gentlemen, is the biggest game of the 2024 season so far. Can the turds keep the cold plunging streak alive? Will the sluts fuck another and raise that body count? We find out in a few short days.

Sad news in the LOG, after a decade in the LOG, Outlet Tool Supply has closed. The vacancy now has a Spirit Halloween Store in its place in the interim. All Jokes aside though, don’t take a temporary Halloween Store lightly, Those things make a shit ton of money in a short amount of time, but once it’s done, you have to figure out what to do with the rest of your season.  OTS has started the season 0-3 and is currently listed as having just a 16% chance at making the playoffs. We knew this day was coming, it’s sad to see it come to fruition though. We will miss OTS but we’re excited for the future of the company. Maybe we’ll get a Jake's Take n Bake back. Send your suggestions to “The Romancer”.

I get this question a lot. How do you make these big dicks? Well, because you all want to know, and won’t stop asking, I’ll break it down for you. There are two methods to making a really good big dick. 

Method #1

If you are a family man, living that family lifestyle, put the kids to bed, usually between 8-9pm. Now, to get the kids to sleep in that exact window, you need to prep. On Big Dick night, dinner is different. Lots of heavy carbs and gravy. Turkey roll ups to add some tryptophan for drowsiness and a really aggressive wrestling match to get the wiggles out. Then once they're down, do some push ups to build up some masculine energy because you are about to go down a dark path.  Your next move is to the liquor cabinet.

In a mixing glass add

2oz of your favorite bourbon

1oz of a basic simple syrup 

2 dashes of bitters

2 dashes of orange bitters

A small squeeze of an orange slice (not too much) 

Stir 

Select a rocks or old fashioned glass and add a nice large ice cube or ice ball. Take a garnish spear and stab two luxardo cherries and when you do, don’t forget to spill a little bit of that syrup to the top of your ice.

Now pour over and add a strip of fresh orange peel for aromatics.

It’s important to note that this first libation is not for searching for your male subjects, but for your big dick recipients’ picture. You are looking for a good clear face shot that you are happy will translate to photoshop well. I advise you all to send me a few selfies in the event you happen to win a big dick or two. After that, more push ups and a second cocktail, now it’s time to search for your man meat. Open your browser to a private tab and start your journey. Go with your instincts, think outside the box… the vagina box, you are thinking like a person who craves some bulge, who wants to see a tight body with a nut slip… who wants… never mind, you get the idea. This is the life of a typical big dick creation. 

Option #2

Have her pull her shirt up over her titties, squeeze her elbows just a touch to push them together while rubbing coconut oil on your dick and maintain a little eye contact. That makes a pretty quick  big dick too.

Kick back with a microdose boys, a heavy microdose.

LOG 4 life!

~mish

LOG WEEKLY DICK SIZE RECAP

Dusty Gaebel has the BIG DICK OF THE WEEK again: 126 Points

Brad Knerr has the small dick of the week: 77 Points

Shawn House has THE THROBBER - 190.64 (S9:W3)

Ethan App has the STINKY DICK - 48.76 Points (S8:W10)

[ruvviks]

HI CASEY!!! pls tell us abt (young) vitali's apartment? 👀

HI RED THANK U FOR THE ASK!! i have some old sketches of the places that i can walk you through, it's a very elaborate setup but it's been in my brain for years at this point so i'm very passionate about it LMAO

i wanted to make vitali's current home in the sims but while i was in the middle of creating the open space for the first floor my laptop crashed and the graphics card shat itself so after that i never picked up the game anymore </3 so i'll just have to work with the sketches because i didn't even get the chance to take any screenshots of it :(

had to remove the picture because tumblr wouldn't make my post show up with it </3 but basically, when vitali moved out for the first time, his apartment looked kinda like this: he had an entrance at the very bottom of the apartment with a large closet directly on the left, a mismatched kitchen next to it, and a desk on the other side. his living room (top left of the layout) consisted of an old couch, coffee table, side table, and a mattress on the floor which he used as bed. he also had a balcony which was positioned above the living room if you're looking from a top view in the width of the apartment, but he only ever used it to sit outside and smoke, the plant pots there remained empty for the whole time he lived there. his bathroom (top right of the layout) had no door (bottom of the layout, so closer to the entrance) and instead had a curtain in front of it; sink on the left, toilet next to it, and bathtub and washing machine on the other side against the wall

it was a pretty spacious apartment still despite being very small, but it was in very poor condition. basically everything that was connected to water was leaking so he could only take showers because otherwise the bathtub would just flood the whole bathroom, the washing machine stood in its own tub that he had to empty regularly, and he had towels on the floor under both sinks as well. there was mold and the paint on the walls was peeling off, and the insulation was basically nonexistent and the walls were paper thin so there was a lot of noise, it was always either chilly or kind of stuffy in there, no ac in summer and sort of working heating in winter but not ideal. basically

when he worked at arasaka he moved into a corpo apartment which i do not have a sketch of, but it doesn't really matter much anyway. it basically was as if he lived in a luxurious ikea showroom, never really put any personality in the place because he didn't feel at home there anyway and he was glad when he got to leave the place behind

he currently lives in wellsprings on the pier, in the penthouse of the apartment building next to megabuilding h2 :] it's a ground level and a first floor and he currently lives there with vincent and mikhail, and their three cats nibbles, sapphire and buttons!

here's a rundown of what everything is!

the entrance with space for coats and shoes on the right! directly next to it are two small rooms, the first one is a storage room and the second one is a toilet

the living room! it's a wide open space with very comfortable chairs and a big couch, enough space for all his friends for movie nights and such :] despite the size of the place he has a reasonably sized tv stood on a tv table, with gaming console connected to it for vincent and mikhail. the outer rim of the living room has a few steps up and is elevated above the rest

the kitchen, which is much bigger than he had in his first apartment. vitali loves cooking and loves having the space for it so this is the perfect kitchen for him, maybe even a bit too big, but that works well when he's in there with others and needs to navigate around. he has a kitchen island with barstools which serves as dinner table, but usually they all eat on the couch

bathroom :] both a tub and a large shower (easier for his leg), washing machine, toilet, and sink!

mikhail's bedroom! he has a bed that rests on top of a frame that's on top of storage cupboards on the floor, that's where all his clothes are. the room has a large desk for him to work at

vincent and vitali's bedroom :] vitali sleeps closest to the door. there's no desk in this room, mostly just storage space because they don't come there a lot except for sleeping and sex

big balcony with sitting spaces, big planters with plants, and a swimming pool with hot tub. vitali doesn't even use it himself but his friends LOVE it for obvious reasons. the whole outer wall of the penthouse on that side (the living room part) is made out of glass to let in as much natural light as possible

directly next to the stairs there's a bar and lounge area, with a balcony situation that overlooks the living room :] vitali sometimes hosts client meetings in his home rather than at the crest (his fixer office on the other side of wellsprings) so that's where he sits with them to relax after business

vitali's office! very spacious with sliding glass doors (that whole inner wall on that side is glass), he also has a big window behind him. he loves having natural light in his house

spare bedroom with two bunk beds for if there's people staying over for the night

spare bathroom for guests :] toilet, sink, and shower setup, nothing too fancy

he got the place before his leg became an actual issue but he refuses to move so for the upcoming years he still very stubbornly uses the stairs but especially later on he just doesn't really go upstairs much anymore and instead does work on the couch. later he gets one of those stair lifts because vincent keeps telling him to do so and that works much better for him :]

when vitali ends up getting his wheelchair for the bad pain days, he would mostly just stay on the bottom floor that day because he refuses to move elsewhere. the penthouse is entirely too nice he doesn't want to get rid of it. and i understand him tbh i would live there

[gravitywonagain]

Sympathy for the Devil; part 2

discord got me to finally write a connecting scene, so here! have some more of this nonsense au now based only vaguely on the blacklist! [part 1]

~~

“Alright. What do we know about him?”

Luo Qingyang stands at the back of the small conference room facing the large projector screen on the opposite wall. Her uniform jacket is draped over the back of the chair in front of her, and her fingers curl and uncurl of their own volition, kneading the dark blue fabric into the cushion beneath it. This is not what she expected her morning to look like. 

Her team -- her and Lan Wangji’s team, now -- is gathered at the table in front of her. 

Nie Zonghui has several stacks of photocopied notes spilling out of an open manilla folder, two highlighters, four sizes of sticky notes, and a legal pad in front of him. He has blue ink on his neck where the tip of the pen resting behind his ear rubs whenever he turns his head to the left. Frustration rolls off of him in waves. 

Lan Jingyi is typing rapidly on his CBC-issued laptop which is angled toward Luo Qingyang just enough that she can see he has six different windows open and is in desperate need of at least two external monitors. The overworked fan is almost louder than his heavy-handed, caffeine-fuelled typing. He’s twisting back and forth in the swivel chair, dragging his toes across the carpet, but swivels to a stop at her question. 

Qin Su stands off to Luo Qingyang’s right, placing photos -- mostly grainy or blurred -- in an ever expanding evidence map. At the top, with a dozen or so threads leading away from its pin, is a crisp, clean, photo of a man wearing an approximation of the CBC Academy uniform, smiling brilliantly at the camera. Beneath him, the title card reads: Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian. 

“Yiling Laozu?” asks Lan Jingyi, one foot tapping out a vague rhythm against the leg of the conference table. 

Luo Qingyang restrains her eyeroll, only because she can see that at least four of the open windows on his laptop are chasing down information regarding Yiling Laozu’s associates, rather than the demonic kingpin himself. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Break it down for me.” 

“Well,” says Qin Su, moving from the board to the open folio near her, “he’s a bit of a recluse, so we don’t actually know a lot.”

Her folio is much better organized than Nie Zonghui’s. 

“Start with the basics.”

Qin Su nods, “Right. Yiling Laozu. Wanted for-- basically every kind of spiritual crime known to the CBC. He invented the Ghost Path in his late teens or early twenties, we think. It’s unclear, what with all of the rumor and suspicion and superstition around even saying his name--”

“Yeah, he really looks like a boogeyman…” says Nie Zonghui. He’s stressed. They should never have sent him into the room with Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Jingyi says, “Hot boogeyman. If you ask me--”

Luo Qingyang clears her throat pointedly. “Nobody did. Moving on?”

“Yup!” 

Qin Su points to Lan Jingyi who taps a few keys on his -- very abused -- keyboard and takes over the projector. He throws several pages up on the wall, photos with short but damning rap sheets. 

“Known associates include Gui Jiangjun and Mo Daifu,” she says, indicating the sheets labeled Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing respectively. 

She points to Lan Jingyi again and a very low-light black and white shot comes up center-screen. It shows a man who could potentially be Wei Wuxian entering a building that is definitely Two Fans. The brilliant green of the sign is lost, but it is plenty readable. “He has been seen entering the Headshaker’s club on several occasions, but any actual association remains speculative at best.” 

Nie Zonghui shrugs in the corner of Luo Qingyang’s eye. “He might just have good taste in venues.” 

All three other agents in the room turn to look at him, brows quirked or furrowed or raised to different degrees. 

Nie Zonghui shrugs again, “What? It’s a nice club.”

--

Wei Wuxian rubs at the zip tie dent around the outside of his wrists. He plays it up a little, wincing and groaning just enough to be heard. 

Still, Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him. 

It’s fine. 

He follows the CBC Director and field agents out of the interrogation room and down a long, boring hallway. Lan Qiren and the other cultivator break off through one of the nondescript doors -- room 129-9, Wei Wuxian notes out of habit -- and then it’s just Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian following Lan Wangji. Down a long, boring hallway. 

It feels like old times. Especially as Wei Wuxian finds his eyes… wandering. 

The Bureau slacks look unfairly good on Lan Wangji, blue wool hugging tight to the curves of his legs and ass in a way no law enforcement uniform should ever be allowed to do. It’s rude. He must get them tailored. 

Lan Wangji leads him through another nondescript door -- room 157-3 -- which opens up into a large bullpen. Heads swivel in their direction, eyes snagging on Wei Wuxian and his casual state of dress. Everybody else in here is wearing uniforms in one state of undress or another, while Wei Wuxian is wearing ripped black jeans and a heather red v-neck. Hopefully he’ll get his jacket back soon. He spent a good amount of time stitching talismans into it; he’d like not to have wasted the effort. 

Eyes un-snag; heads swivel back toward screens. Wei Wuxian remembers the strength of Lan Wangji’s glare and he imagines it’s only become more powerful with age and seniority. He can practically feel the shiver up his own spine. 

Or maybe that is a shiver up his spine. 

It’s strangely nostalgic, being here, even though Wei Wuxian is fairly certain he has never been in this particular room before. But that doesn’t really matter. The layout is the same, the furniture is the same, even the smell is the same. The computers have been updated, at least, but not within this decade. 

Lan Wangji’s office is nice. Clean and minimalist, as expected. Stark white walls, a meticulously curated bookcase, and a matching walnut and glass-top desk. No pictures, no wall art, not even a particularly fancy name plate. The closest thing to a personal touch anywhere in the room is the tea set Lan Wangji’s mother made for him before she died. Wei Wuxian’s fingertips still remember the soft, inexpert curves of the cups. 

The door clicks closed behind him and the silence that settles is almost crushing. 

Tension pulls the lines of Lan Wangji’s shoulder blades toward the middle of his back, which is still turned to Wei Wuxian. His hands slowly curl into fists by his side. 

A familiar ache twists in Wei Wuxian’s gut -- has been twisting in his gut for almost an hour now. The ache for Lan Wangji’s eyes to be on him. The ache for his attention, for his reaction. Anything, really. Since the day he met Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian has always just wanted to break through that barrier Lan Wangji puts around himself, and to really touch him. 

Metaphorically. 

And literally, but that’s something else. 

Probably. 

Now, Lan Wangji’s long braid shifts across the navy fabric of his uniform coat as he turns his head to the side, the shining plait slipping like snake scales through water. Wei Wuxian holds his breath, waiting for the bite. He watches the tension held in Lan Wangji’s jaw forcibly release, and then, finally:

“Wei Ying.”

[ferretseal]

I didn't want to draw last night because my shoulder was acting up

So I don't have drawings right now.

But I'm going to put some of my clown world building up. "Clown" is used as a blanket term for all types mentioned here, but I do explain a little about my thought process.

Enjoy!

Anyway, a world where clowns(and any related person) are their own species. Complete with magical abilities.

So there's this clown in a circus(basically a large, traveling, preforming family). She's the smallest and youngest of the family, and her name is Big-Top(it's a contradicting name, but that's not too uncommon because it's funny)

She has an elephant that's actually a living plushie familiar thing. She made it, and with a little bit of magic it can come to life and become a full sized elephant. It's called Patchwork and it's what she performs with when she's not with her family or being the one selling treats and stuff.

General Magic includes, but is not limited to: pocket dimensions, bubble/balloon craft, "sound board", and y'know, classic clown stuff.

She falls in love with a mime. Mimes are mute(often by choice/traditions), and monochrome (black and white basically), and have strange magic that they can basically conjure up anything they want, but they must act it out and its always invisible. But these things can act on other people if the mime wants them to. Sometimes when the items come in contact with traditional clown magic they can become visible in grey scale, and even more rare they have colors. Mimes also have names, but they're not really known to anyone who's not fluent in mime. But ours is dubbed "Ruffles" by Big-Top's family because they got tired of calling him Mime, and he has unique ruffles on his sleeves and pant legs.

Mimes and clowns are like polar opposites, but also infuriatingly similar, and often don't get along, but at this point they're somewhat civil. Sometimes there's individuals who are friendly, but Big-Top and Ruffles are an anomaly and kinda have a forbidden romance thing going on.

I like the idea of a loud, boisterous and colorful person, and the silent, monochrome partner (but they're both joyful and playful) And Ruffles, for a mime, is "loud". He uses overly exaggerated charades to communicate (as mimes do), so to them he's pretty much yelling all the time.

Big-Top's family!

Her oldest sibling moved away when she was younger, and she doesn't really know them, but she does know that they now work at an amusement park in a Troup there. (A Troup is basically a non family circus that occasionally travels but traveling isn't necessary).

Her older sister(about 4 ish years older than her)is a performer who is often paired with Big-Top. Her name is Topsy-turvy because she does a unique act of doing anything in a handstand, the best one is when she does rope walking.

Then there's Big-Shot(about a year older than Big-Top), the middle brother who's actually a strong man, so he's y'know, HUGE.

(The parents had a naming scheme, if you can't tell.)

The parents are the ringleaders of this group, and are basically in charge. They're Candy(mom) and Casey(dad) and they're your typical clowns.

Then there's Uncle Buffo, he's the lion tamer and has a small army of plush animals that are the same kind of thing as Patchwork.

There's Auntie Velvet who does horse tricks, and her sister Auntie Bingo with her dogs and seals.

Then there's the cousins, Buffo and Velvets twins, Curly and Cheery. They're too young to perform, about 7 ish(clowns start performing at arpund 10-12, depending on the family) so they took over Big-Top's job of selling treats. Curly sells cotton candy and popcorn white Cherry does drinks like pop and slushies.

There's also Nanners, who's a cousin somewhere but to whom is kinda unclear, but they sell things like hotdogs, shaved ice, and makes sure the twins are being safe with the equipment.

Other stuff!

All types of clowns/jesters/mimes need a higher sugar intake than a human. Sugar is fuel and they need extra for the magic. Though mimes seem to prefer extra carbs instead (blame the French.). Big-Top's family keeps bottles of sugar water around and use it like Gatorade during shows. Big-Top herself also often snacks on cotton candy, while Big-Shot prefers marshmallows and Topsy-turvy enjoys hard candy.

Clowns cannot conjure up items, but can make nearly endless pocket dimensions.

They don't really use pens, unless they're the glittery kind, but tend to use markers or those large kids crayons for writing. It's fun.

Play is an important part of clown life. It's a need. You need to play. A clown that doesn't play has something very wrong with them. Even those with depression play, even if it's just passively talking though an improv game. If a clown doesn't play, it could go clinically insane. It's as important as sleep.

There are clowns in other professions though. Doctors, accountants, ect. They still look clown like, hair and face, but they just dress normally lol.

The face paint isn't actually paint. They're markings that are unique to the clown/mime. They cannot be removed. They develop and change with age though (babies are born without them, and should start showing their first marks at around 1 or 2 years old).

Any and all animals (apart from a few outliers with domestic dogs) in a clown run circus are the living plush animals like patchwork. This means that Uncle Buffo's animals aren't actually dangerous and the taming is just a trained act. They're actually very friendly and docile. Wanna have a picture with a tiger? Yup it's safe! Want a painting from patchwork? No problem, he likes to. They're living toys playing, and so no animals are harmed, and transportation is easy, they just get reverted back to a regular sized plushie and put in a toy chest.

Clowns have slightly longer, slightly pointed ears compared to humans, think of like a DND half elf. They're purely looks, but olden jesters are assumed to have had true elf ears that were mobile.

There are currently three types of clowns that stem from Jesters: Clowns(and any sub set such as sad and scary, as well as other unique roles that are magic based such as strong men (see Big-Shot)), Mimes, and magicians (slight of hand magic tricks). There are overlap between the three but each one has a distinct style and culture.